His Voice
by Windsurf
Summary: If I tell, then I'll give it away.  Just know that nothing religious is meant by it.  Disclaimer: No, I don't own HTTYD.


**His Voice**

"Now Toothless," my Rider coughed weakly from his bed. His weathered hand rested on my head, right between my eyes, and I purred quietly at his gentle strokes.

"Don't forget to stay out of sight, stay hidden," his wonderful voice warned me.

I will.

"Promise me. I don't want you to get hurt or captured or studied or anything."

I nodded solemnly, using the humans' universal sign of agreement. I had been doing it for centuries, always the same way. Unbeknownst to my Rider, the same way we had been doing it for the past few decades. _Don't worry_, I huffed at him, my warm breath blowing his dark brown, almost black hair off his face.

"Remember the bridge to…" I tuned my Rider's unnecessary plans out, listening only to the sound of his voice as it wove around the room. To others, it was annoying and whiny, but I loved it. It was the one thing about him that never changed.

No matter who he was, his voice always held a sarcastic edge, some pensive depth, that genuine expressiveness that made it, well, Hiccup's.

That's how I found him, really.

"…There are plenty of lakes there, and very few people. You should be fine in the Yukon Territories…"

No, Hiccup, I won't be going there.

I always called him by his name. He didn't know it, wasn't even aware of what he would call my "nickname" for him. But that's what I called him.

Hiccup.

"I'm so sorry. I couldn't…" His voice trailed off, tinged with deep regret and sadness, but I knew what he was thinking about.

_It's okay_, I crooned, trying to soothe him. A tailfin was a negligible compensation for the friend I had gained. Each generation, my Rider would try to fix my tail, but always failed to fully restore my flight, despite the development of human technology.

I'm still not entirely sure if I want him to restore my freedom. I don't want anything to affect our bond.

"You are not going to be depressed," he asserted, his light blue eyes boring into mine.

I'll do my best. It doesn't matter how many times it happens; I will always feel the bitter, piercing pang of my Rider being ripped away from me, taken from my plane of existence to a place that I can't reach yet.

It jabs through me, destroying everything I have done with my Rider. A quick, intense beam that drowns out our bond for one panicking, terrifying moment of loss before it fades and I find the lifeline to my Rider again.

And as if that's not enough, I have to wait one or two decades to reintroduce myself to him. I feel the pain of being, not really forgotten, but foreign to someone I know and love so well.

And then it happens all over again. It's happened many times before, and will happen so many more times in the future.

"You have a life ahead of you; use it," his voice continued. "Enjoy it."

I have a _long_ life ahead of me. Night Furies live for an average of about three and a half thousand years, give or take a few centuries. And I've noticed that most animals who live with humans tend to live significantly longer than usual.

I'm only one thousand, four hundred and thirty-nine.

I would have died many years ago, if not for the promise Hiccup always demands I make, again and again.

"Mr. Johnson!" a voice came from just outside the door. "Your family's here."

I dove into the closet's shadows, barely managing to squeeze in and tuck myself away from the white walls, white floor, white ceiling, white everything. And just in time, too, as "Hiccup's" family came in, encouraged by the nurse who immediately left.

"Tim!" his wife immediately cried, hovering over her still husband. His two grown-up children stood by his side, a few tears escaping from the boy's eyes and a stone mask covering the girl's.

I could definitely relate to them. It was hard losing the people you loved. I had cried seven hundred years ago, when Gem, one of my good friends, passed away. Her Rider, Hiccup's mate Astrid, had only died about eleven times before they left this world together; Nadders, which were similar to birds, had short life spans, seven or eight centuries, and Gem had been middle-aged when she bonded with Astrid.

My Hiccup has left exactly twenty-one times. This is the twenty-second.

My ears perk up when I hear Hiccup tell his family that he is going to sleep a little now. Respectfully, they leave, still quiet, suspecting the worst.

I am, too. Except I don't suspect it; I know it. This is his final hour.

"Toothless?" came the call.

And he wants to spend it with me.

I approach the bed and settle myself right beside it, within easy reach so Hiccup doesn't have to stretch or move much in order to wrap a thin arm around my neck. We stay like that for awhile, just enjoying each other's company and resting with Hiccup's departure hanging over us like a dark thundercloud. I can hear his breathing becoming shallower and irregular.

And then that wonderful voice speaks again and I look into deep, forest green eyes.

"See you around, buddy."

A bright light engulfs my mind's eye and I immediately feel my heart jump as my senses stop. I can't feel anything, or smell anything, or see anything. Nothing is there.

Hiccup's not there.

I am entirely lost.

A strong force is pulling on me, trying to drag me…somewhere. But I can't go. I want to, I want to escape this mist, but no matter what I want or how much I urge my non-existent body to follow it, I can't move.

Suddenly, I feel the force shooting back, unable to continue its effort and rebounding in my direction as though it is connected to me by an unbreakable string.

I'm in the room my Hiccup was in. He's not there anymore. All that remains is a body.

If he's not here, then there's no reason for me to be.

Silently, I slip out the open window without a backwards glance.

The new father didn't understand. He had known that babies cried, but to cry that much? It had been a week. A whole week, and his ears were filled with a ringing that he didn't think would ever go away.

He held his sleeping new-born boy close, but quickly drew back when it opened its dark brown eyes, glanced around, and immediately began bawling. Again.

Quickly, he held it out to his wife, who was still in bed, her dark brown skin contrasting sharply with the lightly-colored sheets. She rocked the child gently, but to no effect. The high-pitched, whiny wail continued, grating on their nerves, until it abruptly stopped for no apparent reason. Astonished, the parents looked at the baby's wide brown eyes.

_Found you._

**This was a short one-shot idea I wanted to get out there before I forgot it or lost my inspiration for it. I hope it wasn't too confusing, but if it was, please tell me and I will try to fix it.**

**If it was too confusing: this was a reincarnation fic.**

**The first Hiccup of this story (Tim) was in Canada and the next Hiccup was born in Ethiopia.**

**Constructive criticism is welcomed **


End file.
